


We Are Kindred

by Peter_Yellowhammer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Also Cosette or something, Bonding, Confessions, Confusion, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Existential Crisis, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Mild Stream of Consciousness, Post-Madeleine, Self-Acceptance, Self-Denial, She gets a happy ending, Very Low Self-Esteem, Very Sleepy Guards, it's all good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peter_Yellowhammer/pseuds/Peter_Yellowhammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[This is probably Alternate Character Interpretation, but I'm honestly surprised that the issue I address in the text isn't brought up more for these two. Or if it is, then I never noticed. I'd think people in their situations would at least come across it.]</p>
<p>Jean Valjean escapes from the Montreuil-sur-Mer prison, only to discover Javert having a tearful fit of existential angst and jilted yearning. He finds it difficult to know what to do...until he starts hearing a familiar plight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Kindred

**Author's Note:**

> My other stories are going to be very long (especially Worth the Trouble, although I say it lives up to the name). So I decided to try and compress some of the emotion from both of them into one go. What I ended up with is...just what I set out to do. I guess. We'll see once the others are done.

 

Jean Valjean sat restrained in the prison of the city Montreuil-sur-Mer, finally revealed to be his true self after all these years. The only differences were that no red cap adorned his head, his scars had faded, and his hair, albeit white from stress, was clean and unwilting. Relief from no longer hiding was smothered by regret of the circumstances, and that being slowly swirled with humiliation, dripping drops of panic, betrayal, outrage, dismay, grief, and a desire for the poignance of his plea to be heard...all muffled at once by the strength of his determination. He would only stay in the cell for one night. Even as Madeleine died, Jean Valjean would live as a free man to the best that the world could allow...and Fantine's will would be done. By the saints and the stars dotting the Lord's black skies, he would not be stopped by any Inspector or any Javert.

Still...that left the issue of how to enact his escape. It was not as simple as scaling a wall and running wildly to the countryside as in Toulon, or even breaking a bar from the window above him and dropping to ground level. People had built their lives around him: the portress would need to be addressed, as well as at least one of the Sisters. He would need to leave some of his things behind as well as take some of his fortune with him. As long as the few allies he had left maintained their courage, all dead ends would be tied and he could say goodbye to the city forever. No one need miss him, as his life was forfeit to a young girl in a mismanaged inn in Montfermeil.

He had wasted enough time musing. This cell was already starting to burn his soul.

The window bar was simple to break, as in the feat itself was not hard to design. The force needed to do it was another matter altogether: the sound would reverberate. When he was sure the guards were witless enough from the yawning malaise of the night, he removed the bar as deftly as his powerlifter's hands would allow, somehow slipped his large bulk through the window, and climbed onto the roof of the prison. He was a fugitive once again. Now he needed to spy a place to land that would not cripple his legs. It would be easy: the roof was not far above the ground. As a precaution, he listened carefully for the sound of guards stirring within or without the prison.

What he heard instead was a choked sob.

The lady France is cruel to her children, mused Valjean. One mistake, and they are thrown to the mercy of barbarians. He regretted fiercely that he could not comfort the poor crime-addled prisoner, probably someone he had seen before! But it could not be helped. He stalled long enough to make himself--

“Madeleine...Madeleine, not a liar, but a lie...why did he lie, why to me?”

Valjean was stunned into a motionless stupor. That was not the voice of a prisoner. No...he searched along the ground for a shadowed figure, and he found it, the angle of sight revealing Javert slumping against the exterior wall of the cells. Javert was not inside the prison, nor on patrol, nor at his home. This newfound terror gripped him foreignly, unpredictably. Javert was talking to himself. Lamenting. Crying. Nothing more horribly fearsome existed at this moment, on this earth to Jean Valjean. But he could not help creeping closer.

Javert was sitting on a small hill of the land cradling the prison, otherwise a perfect place to land for Valjean. But why? Never mind the loss of opportunity, but why was Javert so sorrowful? What evil was powerful enough to crush that spirit of steel and leather? How was Javert, a man who shouted a woman to death, capable of anything but rage and contempt? So much had changed in the span of a few days. The mayor was a thief, a fallen woman's rescue ended in tragedy, and Javert was shedding tears. Maybe...maybe he did truly regret his sin against Fantine? It was still impossible to tell. The terror gripped him even stronger as he came directly above the police spy, until he was completely immobilized. He could not help but listen to the sudden confession between sniffles.

“A fool of a man, his charity useless to the wretched of this city. He was not evil, but evil mocked his naivete. I mocked him, as well. Maybe...” A moan wrenched from Javert's heart broke the rhythm. “Maybe if I had believed him more fervently, then the lie would have become truth. Maybe the demon Valjean would have been banished,” spat Javert with predictable venom. “Ah...my chest! But my thoughts are not magical. My imaginary friend has died today, and I am alone again.”

A peculiar pall fell over Valjean. Fantine was not mentioned, at least not yet. For what was mentioned...By the saints, Madeleine and Valjean were the same; why make it complicated? It was true that he had wronged this man, had lied to him for years and years to protect himself. But it was all in the name of good, and Javert could have benefitted from it! Was this man so thoroughly incapable of changing perspective?! It must have been so, if he wept over...er, perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. No matter: the facts were still the facts. Javert had a chance to be good, and it was rejected scornfully in the name of a false justice. A fake. Would Javert forever be tricked by this demon of the State?

“I am fake.”

...What? What prompted this?? First he is alone, and now he is 'fake' as well? A fake Inspector? Just because _Valjean_ presented a false magistrate doesn't mean that _Javert_ would--

Valjean suddenly flushed with shame. He knew nothing of this man, and he was oversimplifying grief that had yet to be clarified. That cell had already taken its toll.

“I lived alone, and I was hale. Not happy, not content, but hale. That was enough for so long, and it still should be. I was born alone, I will die alone, so why can I no longer live alone?!” Javert paused for yet more sobbing. “Why does this hurt?!”

Jean could not move. This agony that possessed the Inspector was unintelligible, and yet...it seemed that the truth was coming to light. Already, the man was transforming, as if the moonlight truly could enchant those it touched. Javert was human.

Javert was alone.

“Monsieur le Maire...I feel as if you can hear me.”

Panic.

“I am deranged tonight. I am crying! Men do not shed tears over loneliness; they find companions and end it. Failing that, if no companion can be had, or if the companionship is weak, then they lie to themselves, and it works. But it does not work for me. I must no longer be a man. No...I am a woman. But a woman feels love. Don't they? Love of some variety with which I am not familiar, which I can never understand. I am not in love. I am in rage. I am in rage with Jean Valjean! I am neither man nor woman. I am fake. I am alone...”

Jean Valjean could not be in rage with Javert. Not anymore. Javert no longer made sense. He felt nothing as he looked at the disheveled, bawling figure below him. But he still could not move.

“Madeleine would pity me. Pah! Pity is an insult, the only one that the soft-hearted feel they can wield. But...but Madeleine...it was different somehow. I will never understand it. His insulting pity had a hint of sweetness. His compassion somehow moved me, ever so slightly, ignorably so. He never tried to reach out to me, just kept me at arm's length...but it felt like he was trying, to me. The one person that actually tried. I wanted to believe that."

He hadn't tried. Just as Javert said, he kept the man at a distance for his own sake. And yet...his chest fluttered with shameful pleasure. Javert admired Madeleine in truth, and wanted a deeper connection. Dangerous or not, Valjean was wrong to neglect him.

"But that didn't matter in the end. I only saw the thief Valjean at the end, and rightly so.”

Ah. Jean wasn't sure if he wanted to spitefully snort or bow his head in prayer. Even in grief, Javert held on to the victory that clearly ruined him. Arrogance was its own punishment, and it was a fierce one.

“But I wish I didn't.”

...What? Why? Just when Jean thought he understood this monologue, Javert threw something in to throw him for a loop.

“I wish I was stupid! I wish I still believed in the foolish mayor of Montreuil, that I believed in him at all! I want him back. Give him back to me... _please_. I am a stupid fake. Let me be stupider and faker. Let me have my Madeleine once more...!”

Jean Valjean swallowed to clear his throat. A plea. Javert had begged! The only other time he did that was...Jean was glad that it never came to pass. The plea for ignorance, the cowardice, the self-abuse, the childish show of tantalization by a phantom that Javert should have accepted as nonexistent by now. Was this always what warred within this man? No wonder he shed tears! Still, Madeleine was not a lie in works or sentiment, and Javert truly did...the revelation fluttered in earnest now...Javert did respond to the mercy of the Lord. Javert was capable of redemption...!!

“Let me be a woman!"

...Or maybe he was running a fever.

"Let me be a woman to feel love, any kind of love, even a broken one. Or hatred!! Let me feel anything instead of nothing at all. I feel nothing...nothing worth complaint, and yet I complain. How dare I? My struggles are not struggles. A proper adult would handle this with grace, and no struggle would be had. I must not be an adult, either. Indeed, I weep like a child. I am a child that craves the poignant troubles of an adult...troubles worthy of the silly mercy of Madeleine. Troubles that would legitimize it.”

Javert paused for breath, and so did Jean Valjean. His chest was tight, and his head was reeling. Who was this man?! Dear Lord in heaven, who is Javert?! And what was he supposed to do with him now?!

“Ah, what am I saying?! Mercy is yet another lie, a promise that is destined to root out the fake men, to reveal the parasites of society. Wait, I am not a parasite. Or am I? I speak nonsense. A parasite of emotion, who lives on the...tapestry they weave, only to be ignored at best. I speak nonsense! I am trying to speak like a real person. But I am fake. Fake men are not poignant. Fake men do not feel love. They could pretend to do so, but it is an insult to real lovers and families. An insult to the part of the world to which men like me will never be welcome. Rightly so, r-rightly so. All they can do is shed tears at the truth of who they really are. They are alone, and yet they selfishly cry out for what does not belong to them.”

It was clear to him now. Javert was trying to weep out the poison he had ingested. But it was not purely ingested out of spite. This was what his life, somehow, had compelled him to drink, and he sentenced himself to drinking more. Sentenced...Javert was a prisoner. A prisoner inside his own troubled mind. Jean Valjean felt a lump in his throat. All the utterances of 'fake' made sense now.

If he had known of this anguish in the hospital, that conversation would have gone very differently.

“Madeleine...please lie to me. Please tell me that I am real. _Please tell me that I will not be alone!_ ”

He did not want to say so. This was Javert, and Javert would dismiss Valjean's words as garbage. But he wanted to do something else. The stiff and stern posture, the jaded voice, the obsessively maintained appearance...none of it held fear for him anymore. No...he wanted to hold Javert. He wanted to drop down beside him and embrace the man, to tell him that he was stupid, heart-wrenchingly stupid, yet not fake. To tell him that everything was going to be okay...Because he would know. He was fake once, a pitiful parasite and a falsely entitled one at that. Only the Lord had made him real.

“Madeleine...sweet, foolish Madeleine...I am not worthy of your lies. I look at the stars I admire...and now they are just colorful dots on a ceiling that I cannot reach. Could you reach it for me? Ah! I should be speechless for my own sake. B-But this dreadful sentence keeps wanting to betray my l-lips. I-I m-must say it, must say it! I-I- _I love you, Monsieur Madeleine. I love you_. I hate you so much that it makes me sick. I miss you. I want to love you for pretending to be my friend. I want to love Valjean for creating the lie that is you.

"But I am fake. I cannot feel love. Men like me will never change, because change is something that I am not allowed to undertake. I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't. Even if I were allowed, it would be beyond my childish brain! I want...Madeleine, my dear Madeleine to change me, but by the time I was born, it was too late. I am dead. I was never alive. I am de-des-d-desp-air...!”

Jean Valjean had to clean his face. He could not allow his position to be given away by tears falling upon Javert's head. But the thought that Javert might not even notice magnified the ache that throttled him.

_I gave you a chance to be redeemed, to not be alone. Perhaps it wasn't enough of one. But I can give you another. I will give you as many as you need! I am sorry, Javert. I redact my opinion of you. I will not give up on you, like you have on yourself._

“I will prove to you that you are not fake.”

...Stupid.

Javert recoiled and looked up at him, standing up to get a better look. The moonlight and starlight together showed the bloodshot eyes, the face that was red with the strain of grief, the mucus-caked nose, the no-longer tied up hair fallen loosely behind him, and the still-flowing trails of tears. Jean Valjean finally let his own tears flow freely, in the hopes of communicating with the sorrowful man, not the spiteful Inspector. But as Javert's face contorted into a rage much heavier than at the hospital, Jean felt his heart break in twain.

“Get back to your cell,” hissed the broken man softly. “You eavesdrop as well as steal. Is nothing sacred to you? Fine. What more will you do to me after Arras? Perhaps you will bust my lip and flee as well."

Jean had to reassert his balance upon the roof. Javert turned away.

"Oh, forget it. Forget all of this and go back. Those words were not meant for you. Nor anyone. Not even Mon--” Javert tried to stifle a whimper, but he failed, and Jean felt a croak of pity welling within his tight chest almost fly past his lips. Javert turned back and waved at him to leave with a lethargy that spoke volumes of his helplessness. “Go away. Just go away.”

“...I can't. I am paralyzed.” His voice was choked and broken. His throat felt as if it had been strangled from the inside. But it was only an echo of the torment on display.

“Please go away.” It was a plea to Valjean, not Madeleine. A defeated plea. Jean's tears were flowing even more mercilessly.

“You need me. How could I leave you in this state? You cry out for me, and I would tend to you, Javert.”

“ _Like you did the past five years?!_ ” It was a whisper with the fury of a shriek. Jean flinched at the harsh shift in tone...but then anger welled within him at a neglected point of contention. Nineteen years of convict labor had nearly annihilated his soul. All that brutality for a petty theft, did that mean nothing to the fool, after all that introspection?!

But Jean was still crying, and Javert quickly dropped the aggression. Like a child, the man wiped his face with his sleeve, with a quiet sniffle. Just like that, his rage abated. It was only fourteen years with Javert, and he was one guard among many. Some similar annihilation had happened to Javert, more subtly and over much more time. Jean Valjean was not alone.

“And it was not for you, or weren't you listening? I said this before and I will say it again.” Jean braced himself for a roar, but what he heard instead was a further echo of despair: a quiet wail. “I am not your sport.”

“And I am not your hunter...” He couldn't even dwell on the irony, with the misery growing deeper by each and every word.

Jean dropped to the ground. Javert flinched at the impact, and even that made Jean's heart quiver in this emotional state. He saw Javert plainly now. Underneath the tear-stained coat of a vengeful tool of the law, was someone who dared to hope. Someone who would see his own sins and repent before God. Someone who knew that he was wronged but was never assured that he was wronged. Javert was...the thought of applying the word seemed foreign to him, clumsy, inappropriate. But then he noticed the weeping man did not try to apprehend him. Javert simply slumped back against the wall and buried his face in his hands.

Javert was beautiful.

“All this time...Javert, this is not something you are meant to bear. You have lived alone for...how long, I cannot say. But it is destroying you. Men are not designed to live the way you do.” He felt weary at the last statement. He had just spoken to himself as well as Javert. He had spoken of the Bagne of Toulon, as well as the last five years.

Javert was silent. Jean imagined the angst-filled man becoming haughty again, trying to denounce the love – love...it was love, truly, for the beauty of a sinner about to repent – that he wished to apply as a salve to him. But Javert did nothing of the sort. He merely whispered.

“I came from nothing. You may scoff and say 'I have as well', if you like. Do as you like. I wanted to be a policeman, because they uphold justice for all. I became a guard, because I had nothing. I learned how to read because it promised that I might redirect my path somewhere better, to a place of true evil that I could smite without remorse. Ah! Instead, I found a convict that would claim to comfort me in my lowest state. So what else could I be but alone?" Javert paused, probably deliberately. "You were always a kind liar--”

“ _I do not lie!!_ ” Jean had to struggle to keep his voice soft as well as clear. “Your tears are real. They make me shed my own. I would not lie about what a man deserves in this life. I have never lied about that to anyone. Not to myself. Not to Fantine. Never to you, Javert.”

“...Your tears are alien to me,” said Javert in a growling murmur, eyes suddenly sparking with a touch of mirth. Was Javert trying to confuse him on purpose? To keep him away? It would fail. Javert's salvation was long overdue. “Do you pity me? Do you see yourself in me? Or did you hear something in what I said, instead of what I was thinking? I do not know.”

“I will admit that some of what you said confuses me,” supplied Jean, “but there is one thing I do understand. I do see myself in you. You wonder if anything you have ever thought is real. If your emotions are just echoes of what you have seen 'better' people feeling. You despair at the thought that your existence is worthless...unless you work. Unless you work for others, to have them tolerate your filthy presence. Toulon made me feel filthy, and my redemption made me feel worthless. But I am _neither_. I am loved by the Lord. And so are you.”

Was that too much at once? Javert did not respond to it. In fact, Javert grew very still. He decided to try a different route.

“...If you doubt the Lord, then think of your family. Did they not love you enough to bring you into this world, to not snuff you out when you drained them of resources? If not, then how are you here?”

“ _PRESUMPTUOUS._ ”

Jean recoiled. Javert was right, and it echoed through the whisper that had the loudest softness Jean had ever heard. He had made a very poor mistake.

“I am so terribly sorry! I am not used to this...” Now he was making excuses!

“Then be silent. I was not loved by them, not that it matters anymore. Or did it ever? My mother 'loved' her clients, and I was most likely a product of that. I'm amazed that I'm an only child. She was a frequent prisoner, too! I was actually born in one of her stays in the wretched dump. If she hadn't gotten parole, then I might have been raised there. If she had loved me, then she would have taken me to an orphanage; she was in no state to raise a child. She was too drunk on...um...laudanum, I suppose, she was never lucid enough to tell me what it was. But she kept me in her home, with nothing but a thin wall to soften the sound of rutting."

“W-What of your father, then?” Jean was trembling. This was his fault; now Javert was drowning in the misery of the past. This was not what he wanted at all.

But at the same time...it was all beginning to make sense. A whoreson, forced to hide from fornicators, forced to pretend he wasn't there at all to block out the horror...it was real tragedy, and one that would make him feel 'fake'. And he hated his mother for keeping him, for not being able to leave him! It was awful, but not evil. It was a grey sin, born of confusion, and that made it all the more horribly poignant.

“I don't know.”

Oh, no...

“Oh, Javert...”

“Mother told me that he was a galley slave, forced to leave us to make money for our upkeep. But I have never seen the man. She could have just made it up, just a story to tell a child for...for the sake of killing any false hope. I searched for him as a guard, and I never found him. I have no idea who my father is, really. And...”

Jean was afraid to ask.

“...And for that matter, I don't know if my mother is truly my mother! Maybe some harlot took pity on some...random Gypsy infant because she was one herself. Wait...no, ridiculous. Maybe she housed me so that she could tell her johns that she had a child. To keep them from beating her in front of me. I... _I don't know. I don't know anything_.”

Jean closed the distance between them, pulled Javert up, and embraced him. Javert seemed to want to pull away, but Jean buried his face in the crook of Javert's neck. Javert made a strange mewling sound and did the same. It felt good. What an inverted night. He was holding Javert, and it felt...really, really good. Maybe that was because it was Javert and not in spite of it.

“I ran away one day. When I came back, she had been killed. Maybe I was just a shield for her after all. I really, truly don't know...” Jean kissed Javert's neck and rubbed his back, startled at the sudden convulsions running through the sobbing policeman. Soon, Javert would have no tears left.

“If you don't know...” tried Jean, “then they could have loved you. Both of them. If not, then they should have. As...as for right now...”

Jean felt warmth flood his innards. Javert was returning the embrace, gently, with heartfelt emotion pouring out of him. Javert had surrendered. The warmth surged into his chest. Javert was more than a repentant sinner, wasn't he? He understood loneliness, of the harshest kind. He battled despair, albeit suddenly and without organization. And now he shared warmth with the man he swore to destroy, because he must have accepted that it was okay. He even stayed quiet to keep them from being discovered, didn't he? To prolong the fragile moment they had.

Javert...he was a beautiful man. The demon that killed Fantine was vanquished. Jean shuddered at Javert shifting his head against his neck, making himself more comfortable. This was something more precious than a fellow soul, and he had been within arm's reach the whole time.

“...I hope that I can suffice.”

Javert pulled his face up and pressed chapped lips to his. Jean froze...but witnessed himself returning the contact mindlessly. Javert hurriedly pulled away and slapped Valjean's face.

“I...that...no. Just, no. Forget I did that.”

Jean said nothing. He thought nothing. All of time and divinity stood still, and his lips were warm. His face hurt, but whatever. Javert wasn't much of a slapper. He was more the club-wielder.

“W-Why did you say that? N-Never mind, I'm taking you back to your--”

Jean pulled Javert to him and kissed him. Now it was Javert that froze. Something buzzed in Jean's head. His groin twitched. He was starting to see Javert differently, physically. Javert was kissable. Javert had kissed him, and Jean returned it. He wanted more. He kissed Javert again.

And again.

And yet again.

Javert pushed on Jean's chest to fall back, hitting the prison wall gracelessly.

“Y-You would try that, wouldn't you? Scheming recidivist. Try anything to stay away from getting--”

Jean had claimed Javert's mouth again. It was fun. It was necessary. It was all he could think to do, all he wanted to do. His brain could only issue commands now. Kiss Javert. Melt. Make him melt away, make all your conflict and worries melt in the smacking of lips.

“S-Stop this.”

Smack.

“I'm warning you.”

Smack, smack.

“Please...”

Jean barely made a husky whisper of “Too good” before doing it several more times, each one dissolving his brain a little more. He was erect. Javert was very, very kissable, as it turned out. His lips were surprisingly warm and pliable, curling and pressing onto his like they fit together as a puzzle. The poor fool wasn't even kissing back, and it just felt right. Chapped made little difference right now: Javert. Lips. Mine. His body was pressing against Javert's, and he wondered why he ever communicated with the man in any other fashion.

“...Monsieur le Maire never kissed me,” said Javert huskily. Jean had to suppress a laughing fit. It wasn't even that funny; he was just that relieved.

“He had never kissed before.” Smack. “He should have.” Smack. “With you, I mean.” Smack, smack. “It's a lot of fun.” Smack. “Please kiss me back.”

Javert did.

They met together, and the warmth within him erupted. They shared longer, more luxurious caresses as they melded into each other. They embraced again, timidly exploring each other with prodding and groping hands, yet delighted at what they found. Soon enough, their lips parted enough for tongues to meet, and they folded into a sweet dance. This isn't to say that it was well done: they collided a few times and even bit down every now and then, but passion kept them on the path of learning. Yes, they were men of learning, studying an extremely specific subject. Kissing was a part of him that was missing. Javert gave that to him, never mind the difficulty of grasping the concept. This could not end here; throwing this away would break him all over again. Jean knew that he had to change his plan.

As they parted: “Come with me. Let me escape, and come with me.”

If looks could kill. Jean prepared for another slap, but instead: “ _You think it's that easy?!_ Just because you...because I like k-kiss...oh, by the stars...I just kissed a thief. I...you betrayed me, and I just kissed you like a madman!”

But Javert was still embracing him.

“Well, I just kissed a policeman,” offered Jean. “It was excellent. Much better than I thought it would be.”

Javert bristled, and Jean felt a rush of amusement and...endearment. He was offended! Predictably, adorably offended! But of course Javert was a good kisser for a first timer. Jean just hoped he was as well...for Javert. He wanted to please Javert, and meshed lips with him again in that spirit. He realized that his pants were wet, as were his partner's. But he saw Javert's face returning to despair, and he quickly felt his heart being torn apart again.

“You feel fake as a policeman,” said Jean solemnly. “I feel fake as a mayor. We can cease to be both, and we can be real together. I don't mean to sound trite, really I don't. Javert...” He gently took the dear man's face into his hands, wiping the wet trails off his long-since reddened cheeks. “Javert, we can't abandon this as soon as we've found it. I want to love you. I want you to be mine, for me to be yours."

...It was true. Everything he had said went without prompt, and yet it was completely true.

“...It's disgusting.” Javert's voice wavered again. That alone told Jean what to say next.

“It is much finer than being alone.” Smack. “I want to be real with you. I want to make real men out of both of us.” Smack. “And I can fulfill poor Fantine's wish as well, if you would only let me heal you, my dear.”

It was too much, wasn't it? That was too far. Javert would--

“You were serious. I thought you just made that up...”

Deciding to shelve his exasperation for now, Jean merely shook his head for his answer.

“I must travel to rescue her daughter. Montfermeil holds her in a demon's lair for an inn. If you come with me, then you can be a part of it. You can rescue a child in distress. How does that sound?”

Valjean dropped his hands at Javert's loud silence. He couldn't do any more. It was up to his dear police spy now. Dear...Javert might not be truly dear to him right now, he wasn't sure, but Valjean wanted him to be. He wanted this to work so badly that it hurt.

“Jean...”

His heart stopped. His name...it sounded well from Javert. It was an echo from a real sound. A real name.

...Wait, there was more that he could do after all.

“I know I ask something tremendous of you. I am asking you to throw away your life for a new one, like the Bishop of Digne asked me to do when he saved me. I ask of you to break the law...” He couldn't help but pause, even though he knew it was a terrible idea. “But I will lo--” No. No. That was wrong, hideous, to put conditions upon it. “I will be with you no matter what, Javert. We are kindred. If you forget all of this ever happened, I will still aim to love you.”

The idea of such a failure on this journey hurt, with a strength that staggered him. He never wanted this feeling with Javert before, and now it was all he could imagine. Please, let it not come to that.

“But please come with me! I will define you beyond any law. I will prove to you that you are real. Time and time again, if I must. I will love...you, I..." Words flowed of their own free will, and emotion followed them. "Dear me, Javert, I love you right now. _I love you._ ”

...???

“I love you, too.”

…!!!

Jean had no strength for a response. It was so beautifully hot and debilitating, hearing those insane words. Maybe he was just tired from the very long day? He almost had to kneel, his knees were so weak. Was he truly going mad? Javert's face was red, but he was sure that it was a blush coloring his cheeks instead of sheer strain.

“...I, uh....disregard that. I am speaking as a madman.”

Jean had to nod in agreement. Too much was happening; it was all very confusing to say the least. But the idea had been planted. Javert loved him. The police spy was in love with the former mayor...If that could mean anything at all, it could mean change for the uptight man. Was that too optimistic? But his mind painted a portrait regardless. Valjean imagined the severe strength and nobility of the man's law enforcement blended with the love of mercy and forgiveness. The love that Jean Valjean would share with him, to nurture him, to beguile him. If Javert could truly be saved without being broken...the man born from that love would be a sight to behold.

Javert looked toward the entrance of the prison, and Jean's fugitive-tempered panic renewed itself. Why hadn't the guards come for him yet? Perhaps the moon had bewitched them into a deep sleep. Or maybe they were terrible guards. Whatever the case--

“Knock me out.”

...What? Jean was sure his face said as much.

“Or rather, you already did. The thief Jean Valjean assaulted the Inspector Javert when escaping the Montreuil-sur-Mer prison hold. After recovery, the Inspector collected his belongings to roguely pursue the thief to Toulouse, where Valjean said he was going to start a family. The pursuit is still in progr--”

Javert was cut off by a delirious thief knocking him over, groping him, and sloppily kissing him all over his mouth and neck. Jean watched himself molest the poor Inspector out of the sheer bliss that came over him. Javert...how did he not rescue this man before? It was the best idea he never had.

“...That will have to do,” said Jean through kiss-swollen lips, still pressed against Javert's. “I will not hit you.”

"You must," said Javert, confirming his insanity. "I need to make a case for myself."

"You ridiculous man, I could never!"

"There is no time, you dolt!"

"Javert, please--"

" _Fantine was a filthy whore._ "

...SMACK.

...

Javert laid unconscious on the ground. That was a dirty trick, but obviously effective. Jean had fled from the scene, leaving scraps of clothing as tracks to trick the guards away from his home, so he could finally make arrangements. It was a desperate trick, but hopefully effective. Jean kept in vain to purge the awful sight of the coldcocked policeman, with a busted lip and two gaps where teeth hung, looking every inch the victim of a rage-consumed convict on the run. It was monstrous...but so be it. This was the plan now, and he would commit to it. If Javert got cold feet and decided not to come, then Jean would strangle him the next time he saw him. He would even welcome a vengeful Javert, if it meant he could disarm him again and continue what they had started.

Hopefully, he would have the time to put on a clean pair of pants.

\--------------------------------------------

It was done.

Cosette clung fiercely to Jean Valjean, as if she were an autumn leaf that feared getting blown away from its mother branch. Her brittle hair and bony frame tore at him so severely, he was ready to attack whoever stood in his way as a back-up method of claiming her. If only he didn't get lost along the way, he would have rescued her sooner.

It was startling how quickly he seemed to get attached to certain people. This child was desperate for love and identity, and Jean provided. Javert was desperate for the same, and he was desperate for Javert. He was desperate for both of them far too quickly. Perhaps it wasn't normal, but it had brought two tremendous souls into his world. He was fine with not normal.

He had to make up a new identity to snatch her from the innkeepers, which was for the best. The disgusting entitlement that they wordlessly cited to swindle good people was something he didn't want following him from this place. Still...Javert was very late. Even as much as Jean was held up, the spy was nowhere to be found. He started to despair that the man really did forget where to go, or that he was apprehended. Oh dear Lord...if Javert was hurt. He could scarcely bear the thought as Cosette hummed softly to herself. If he could not have both, then he would fiercely protect one or the other.

_Sweet, foolish Javert, where are you? You are making me anxious._

“Leggo o' me!”

Cosette stifled a shriek at the sound of M. Thenardier. Valjean decided to keep his eyes forward and keep walking. Do not engage.

“It's about time we put you two away,” echoed a gruff voice. “We just needed you out of the way. We have the records you were hiding at last. You're done for, you filthy bastards.”

"Our children!", he spat.

"We'll find worthier parents for them, you need not worry about that," answered the officer.

“You have no warrant!”, yelled Mme. Thenardier.

“You have no soul.”

Jean Valjean froze in his tracks. Hope and fear wrestled inside him, but his heart was awash in the warmth he craved since going on the lam. The voice sounded different than he remembered, carrying a subtle lisp. He was afraid to turn around in case he was hallucinating or something equally demented, but--

A warm hand fell upon his left shoulder, the one Cosette left alone.

“I suppose I have some explaining to do."

"...Indeed." It was the only word that fit. Indeed.

"Indeed. Well...to put it concisely, there is no point in me being a policeman anymore. My last act was to misdirect, and then I disappeared. I disobeyed the law. And if I can't obey the law, then I'm going to do what I want anyway,” said Javert sunnily.

...What an inverted life.

“If I weren't holding a child right now...you would not be able to walk with what I would do to you.” He was sure explaining that statement to Cosette would be fun.

“...I hope that's a good thing,” answered Javert. "I would prefer not to lose more teeth. I sound like a dandy as it is."

Jean finally turned around. That beautiful bastard was wearing workman's clothes, a grey cap neatly adorning that silly head. The look on his bruised face, the grin with two gaps on the bottom...he was happy. It was like seeing a gravestone grow hands and juggle skulls. How? Javert...he wore the look of contentedness, of self-actualization. He must have accepted something in the few days they were apart: he looked as if he had been cured of a fatal illness. Javert also looked unreasonably handsome and disgustingly kissable to Jean, especially in this moment. Words failed him as to how that was possible.

What the hell had happened to them? Why was this surreal salvation happening now? Was it a sign of the righteousness of saving Fantine's daughter? Or perhaps for saving two lost souls: Javert's and his own? How could any of this--oh, that bruise...

"I'm so sorry about your face."

"...I'm sorry about your hair. But I find that it suits you. You look wise."

Valjean had to snort.

"You're funny. I am a ninny, and I look upon a fellow one."

Javert turned his lip wryly, but not without wincing. Jean would happily go bald if it meant the dear man and this child never felt pain again.

"I honestly thought you only had your uniform to wear." It was embarrassing to admit, but he wouldn't have put it past Javert nonetheless.

"Hm? Ah, I used this for undercover work. Now it's just what I wear."

“You look good. Ah, listen to me ramble! How did you catch those snakes?”, asked Jean. Cosette was still quiet, as if she were afraid to say a word that would dispel the justice on display.

“I actually got here before you did. I make a point of making good time when traveling.”

Rage.

“Now, now, I had a reason for not telling you. I needed you to act naturally. The police here have been watching that inn for years now, and they needed a sting to get them out of there and search the place. There were two problems, though: they didn't have enough money to pull a sting off, and they didn't have a warrant. But then I showed up.” Javert was grinning like a thieving little monkey. It was deliciously cute, and the gaps just made it worse.

“Well, come on, what did you do?!”

Javert frowned as he said: “Isn't it not obvious? I told them about you.”

Shock.

“Well, I only told them you were adopting this little one at first," he continued as he scrutinized her. "But I saw that they weren't the strictest policemen, and...I caved. My instincts were right, they don't care! They actually sympathize with you. I was thinking we could stay here until we figure out what precisely to do about this whole mess. I need a job. I feel useless, like you said I would!”

...Joy. He should have felt nothing but pure, unbelievable joy. But everything that had happened would compute for a short while, only to short circuit and then rebound, back and forth in his reeling mind. Jean Valjean had died and was dreaming of a new life, filled with anxiety and ecstacy born from absolutely nowhere. Perceiving it all was proving to be very difficult, but the unbalanced mirth in his chest compelled him to try.

“You are nowhere near useless. You must have had to spin quite the tale.” He wanted to fuse with Javert, never to leave his side. He wanted to understand why the man was suddenly holy. Perhaps the answer was tucked away somewhere inconspicuous, just like Madeleine had tucked Javert into his coat pocket where he wouldn't do any harm. Why did one forgettable margin of France, instead of the well-worn path of lonely righteousness, hold the key to his happiness all along?

Javert shrugged.

“They have bigger problems, mostly. Anyway, you coming here was a good way to get them out of the inn because they were going to pursue you. You saw how they love money, and I saw you deal with them. I was sitting by the dining table, third from the left.”

Disbelief.

“Once they followed you out, I sneaked into their office and took their personal records straight to the police. Absolutely disgusting, what was written on them. They reveled in what they did! If I am to pity them, then let it be after they are behind bars."

Jean couldn't help but nod. Even he had trouble seeing the light in those people.

"The lack of a warrant will be an issue, but if all else fails, we'll just get this one out of here. So...like I said, obeying the law is behind me. But justice will _never_ be.”

“Amen...", Jean said as a real prayer. "Javert...you are not the same man anymore. What happened?”

Javert was the one who moved in to kiss. But that bruise...but Javert was the instigator. Well, okay. As long as those lips were on his, Jean would want for nothing.

“You did, Jean. But it was mostly me. It's difficult to explain...”

“Please try. I need to muse on the events that took place, or my heart will burst from yet more insanity.”

The two of them started walking away from the scene they had just created, both of them side by side. Hopefully no one had spied them declaring something so, as the common man would deem it, sinful.

“I became a policeman because I believed that no other path would have suited me. I decided that, but...I, that is, I had never made it clear to myself, or anyone really, why that was. I wanted the law to define me. I wanted to be something...useful to the just and fair people of this world. But I couldn't even understand what that meant for all that time.”

Valjean was rapt with attention, only tearing away at the sensation of Cosette adjusting her grip upon his greatcoat.

“I believed you had stolen without remorse, and I believed that was the way of things.” Valjean heard Javert's voice become heavy with remose, and his throat tightened. Ironic or fitting, it was real emotion that defined the words. “But I saw how you wanted to say that we were the same, and that you wanted to define me anew. I was weak. I took your comfort because I could take nothing else. I wanted nothing to do with you.”

“...But you wanted Madeleine,” croaked Valjean weakly.

“Indeed...I wanted to believe that you were telling the truth for once. That's why I decided to let you go. I wanted to test you, for my own selfish sake. But while I was traveling here, I thought of what I was leaving behind...”

Javert paused. The air around Valjean's neck felt hot. His face felt hot. Why did this silence burn him so intimately?! He wanted to kiss Javert, to make the pause justified, to transform it into a loud moment of meaning. To have his mind disappear if but for a few seconds.

Valjean kissed Javert's cheek. Even so far away from his lips, the contact melted his thoughts into jelly. Javert tasted like river water and apples.

“You aim to distract me, my dear,” chided Javert. The words aimed to melt Jean's chest. “I am gathering my thoughts! Anyway...what I left behind was...nothing.”

“Nothing?” It seemed correct, but it was also hard to grasp. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing at all. I left the town that I thought needed me, and it became clear to me as I left that it will cope on its own. I decided to resign my post as policeman, and I felt...it hadn't occurred to me until I was halfway here, but I felt the same. Doesn't that seem bizarre? But it's not. I still felt like a man of justice, merely without the privileges. The law had never defined me...I did all of that on my own. So I let it go.”

Valjean kissed his neck. He really didn't know what else to do! Affection was all he felt now, and gratitude for the fading anxiety, but this was all so new. He was so helpless!

“They will see us if you keep doing that. The police won't distract them forever.”

“Pardon, pardon.”

“...Pardon, _pardon?_ ”, echoed Cosette after a while. “Why the second one?”

“Why not, Cosette?”, challenged Javert. He said her name...he said it well. Jean hoped to hear him say it many, many more times in what was to come.

Cosette said nothing, still clinging to her savior.

“I define myself, Jean Valjean. Not you. It was interesting to accept. But as soon as I did, I felt as if I had been reprieved from a prison sentence. I was free...free to find you. And I am free to stay.”

A sight to behold, just as he thought.

“...I love you, Javert.” It was true. Not merely true in hope and promises now, but a fact as solid as stone. “You are free to do with that as you will,” proposed Jean. It was all he could do now.

Javert turned around and, in spite of what he said before, kissed him straight on the lips. Jean Valjean was liquid.

“I love you, too, Jean. I do. Ow...”

"We really shouldn't--"

"I don't care."

Smack. Fine, he didn't care either, then.

“I-I admit I had doubts, Javert.” Smack. “But you proved me wrong, I am so glad.” Smack, smack. “Oh dear, Cosette. I am so sorry, this must be so strange!”

“Papa, when you two are done kissing, may I have some food? If that's okay...”

Valjean paused from the dizzying blow to his focus, but without missing a beat, Javert started laughing like a madman. A beautiful sound, one that deserved to be made and heard. Javert was laughing so hard, and tears started pouring down his face...perhaps Jean would join him.

The sound of 'Papa' tunneled through Jean's ears. It anchored within him, quickly settling as a permanent name. It felt correct. Cosette in his arms felt correct. Having Javert alongside them felt like the missing toy of a set had been reunited with the others.

...As for the kissing, the poor girl was probably grateful for anything besides the treatment she received at the inn. His heart would never stop aching at what he saw, would it? That was a fair trade for the paradise laid out for him.

“That sounds excellent, ma petite," answered Javert. "The gendarmerie here plans to reward me for my cooperation. I didn't plan to take them up on it, but...I've just changed my mind.”

So much change with just a little affection...Javert really had been deprived of basic humanity. It was astounding how different he was now. Unbelievable. A guardian of this new paradise, exalted from a raging hellbeast that was never shackled. Cosette seemed to feel lighter, even though she was shifting more, making herself more comfortable.

“Papa?”

“Yes, ma petite?”

“Is this weird guy that talks too much going to follow us now?”

“I plan on it,” answered Javert. 

"He's the reason those horrible people are gone, my dear! You should express your thanks."

Cosette slowly, adorably lifted her head and looked around her. She didn't want to believe it. She was tired of false promises and just wanted to be taken away. But it was safe now. For all of them...it was finally safe now.

"Thank you very much, weird guy. Are you really coming with us?" Her voice was fearful, so Jean rubbed her back to soothe her. "I want them to stay away."

“I already answered that. By the way, young lady, I would not talk so much if I didn't have so much to say. And what's wrong with being weird, for that matter?”

“Nothing. I'm hungry, let's go, please.”

“Yes, let's.”

Jean let Javert lead them to...a bakery, of all places, Cosette still bundled in his arms. This was real. As dreamlike as it seemed, walking through a foreign town with his old adversary and the child of a woman he barely knew, it felt somehow inevitable. He felt as if he had known them timelessly, since before he existed.

"Javert...did you mean it when you said...you know?"

The holy fool frowned.

"I could not believe what I was doing, not any of it. And I was still angry; I said it partly out of spite as well as need. Now...I would just as soon pretend it never happened. That is my choice." Jean felt that he would do the same.

Perhaps this was just the way of things. Dozens of paths had stretched before him, and the moment he tread down this one, he knew it was the best for which he could hope.

After all, kindred spirits belonged together.


End file.
